


salvus

by orphan_account



Category: Gods Will Be Watching
Genre: Gen, and amputation? briefly?, oh watch for mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marvin comes running back again—this time, Burden takes a moment to pet him. “I w-. . . I don’t think we ever really talked about that week we spent in, uh. . .with Irving and Alexander. The torture chamber.” He says it almost under his breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	salvus

Sineicos is beautiful in its cold way. The Everdusk team is chatting idly around the campfire; it's a rare moment between the constant threats of starvation, hypothermia or hopelessness. Burden steals a glance at each member. Donald and BR4N-D0N are putting the finishing touches on the radio. Sarah and doctor Zenész are talking about the links between the mind and the physiology of the brain. . .or something.

 

While the doctor is distracted, Jack is sneaking Marvin some of the white fat from his kills that day. The little blobs are almost invisible in the snow. Burden taps him on the shoulder and Jack whips around in alarm, one hand clapped over his mouth. “Hey, easy,” says Burden. “Just me.”

 

Jack starts to say something, but seems to think better of it and shakes his head. “What’s on your mind, sarge?”

 

“I just don’t like the look of these rations yet.”

 

“Wh—Burden, we have plenty! I just got back!” Jack toes the makeshift box of meat. “It’ll rot before we can eat it all.”

 

“Then let’s go for a walk,” says Burden impatiently. He ignores Zenész' pointed look from across the fireplace.

 

Heaving a sigh, Jack gets to his feet, whistling for Marvin to follow them. The three leave the camp and push through the forest for a while until they arrive at a small clearing; the ground is pale and cracked here, flooded with blue-pink light in the last half hour before sunset.

 

“Talk,” says Jack.

 

Burden crouches and digs around the forest floor for a stick. When he finds one, he closes his fingers around it and throws it a little ways. Marvin goes skittering after it and returns the stick in no time flat. Burden tosses it again; Jack watches, patiently. Marvin comes running back again—this time, Burden takes a moment to pet him. “I w-. . . I don’t think we ever really talked about that week we spent in, uh. . .with Irving and Alexander. The torture chamber.” He says it almost under his breath.

 

“’Torture chamber’,” says Jack lightly, “or ‘dingy basement converted by a couple of sociopaths’?”

 

“I mean, do you ever think about it?”

 

-”To the way those splintery fucking chairs chafed my ass, yeah. Traumatic.”

 

“The glare of the fluorescent lights,” prods Burden, “the smell of blood? The sight of that ugly bastard McAllister?”

 

-“I bet Alexander was uglier under that helmet," returns Jack competitively.

 

“The feeling of dread when—”

 

“Abraham, _knock it off_.” Jack runs a hand through his hair. “ _Shit_. What’s your problem?”

 

“I’m sorry, I got carried away. I wanted to ask you—” Burden pauses and throws the stick for Marvin, farther away than before. “—there was this mumbling I heard. I never could place it.”

 

Jack stiffens. “What, uh, what mumbling?”

 

“It was kind of—gods, don’t tell me you didn’t hear it. It was like, ‘please, please’, through the whole night. You know? I thought it was another glitch.”

 

“A glitch?” Jack laughs, a little shakily. “You sleeping OK?”

 

Burden curses himself for saying that out loud. Maybe he ought to shoot himself and restart. Well, not yet—first, this. “You know, don’t you?”

 

“I mean, I can account for the. . .mumbling, sarge, if you really need the piece of mind, but.” Jack clears his throat. “Just promise you’re not gonna laugh.”

 

“On my honor.” Burden raises a dutiful left hand and rests the right over his heart—his heartbeat quickens a little under his palm when Jack cracks a smile.

 

“On your honor. So, um, those wooden chairs were flimsy, I mean, I was feeling every move you made. Hearing it too. . .Anyway, no offense, man, you were taking the punishment hard as shit.”

 

Burden watches him silently for a few long seconds, trying not to look reproachful. He’s sure Jack has a point to make. “And?”

 

-”Prayer for your safety, sarge. Lots of ‘em, actually.” Marvin returns with the stick and Jack takes a knee to pet him, refusing to make eye contact with either Burden or the dog. “Don’t laugh, asshole,” he says, grinning at the snow. “I can tell.”

 

“I’m not laughing,” says Burden, smiling ear to ear like a fool. “Just been a while since I heard of anyone praying.” Nor, he thinks to himself, has anyone ever prayed for him.

 

“Yeah, well, we do it all the time on Legin,” answers Jack, standing up again. “’Gods help me find water’. ‘Gods heal my broken fucking leg’. You don't wanna feel like it’s just you, the sandstorms and the two damn suns.”

 

“So it’s a comfort thing?”

 

Jack clicks his tongue. “Nah, not exactly. More like. . .calling on a higher power? That sounds like shit, but you know. Something better than one dumbass by himself yelling at the sky.”

 

“Do your prayers ever get answered?” asks Burden, trying to keep his tone cool.

 

“Kinda. Like this one time, I prayed for something better than one dumbass by himself yelling at the sky, and I got a second dumbass to keep me company.” Jack fiddles with the wiring on his arm implant, looking at the ground again as Marvin runs circles around his feet.

 

* * *

 

Jack is the real godsend, thinks Burden while they walk back to camp together. Wait—fuck. He should have said that. _Fuck_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> 15 OCT 2016: revamped!


End file.
